


comfort (even if it's not true)

by serevelaa



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Comfort, Gen, Ghostbur and Wilbur Soot are Different People, Kinda, Mentioned Floris | Fundy, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Short One Shot, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Break (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-24 12:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serevelaa/pseuds/serevelaa
Summary: Ghostbur knows there is something wrong when Tommy pulls them away from their friends and asks him to keep a secret. His fingers, knobby and awkward from adolescence, tangle together in a frantic pull and pop of knuckles. Ghostbur stares at them curiously until Tommy speaks up.“Ghostbur, do you want to come back?”OR: The ficlit I wrote at midnight after watching Tommy's 3/14/2021 stream
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 119





	comfort (even if it's not true)

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOOO POGCHAMP!!! 
> 
> My first fic in this fandom! I'm in it for the long haul, boys. This one was to test the waters. I plan on releasing a long-term Schlatt fic, a Fundy & Wilbur (maybe Philza?) fic, and some Karlnapity & dadboyhalo. I hope you guys enjoy this! I did actually write this at, like, 2 in the morning while sick with Corona, soooo . . .
> 
> AS ALWAYS: This is NOT about the content creators. This is about the characters portrayed on the Dream SMP. Don't share with CCs, don't repost or share as ship. I do not condone in any way romantic ships with the SMP minors or ships between familiar relationships. 
> 
> Leave kudos if you read! And if you liked it, feel free to comment down below and maybe even follow. It helps out a lot. I read and respond to every comment, so if you have any suggestions for fics, drop em down below.

Ghostbur knows there is something wrong when Tommy pulls them away from their friends and asks him to keep a secret. His fingers, knobby and awkward from adolescence, tangle together in a frantic pull and pop of knuckles. Ghostbur stares at them curiously until Tommy speaks up.

“Ghostbur, do you want to come back?” Tommy asks, wrenching Wilbur away from thoughts of towers and prisons and silly games of chop-the-head-off-the-tyrant between friends. He seems timid, and Ghostbur matches the energy.

“The world needs leadership,” he recites pathetically. He fears it is the wrong thing to say, because Tommy lets a frown wrinkle his features. “And Wilbur, he. . .”

There is fire in Tommy’s expression. “Listen to me: Wilbur can’t come back. I spent months and months with him, and you know, I used to think maybe he still was my brother. But he’s not. He’s gotten worse. He’s,” Tommy swallows viciously, “definitely a bad guy.”

And there is a sudden tragedy in the air that makes the phantom ache for the mind-numbing release of his blue stone, the ambivalence of amnesia, the bliss of avoiding these kinds of conversations. Ghostbur’s mouth flips through vowels and constants, stuttering, and then his hands are on his temples. 

_ Focus, focus, focus. Don’t forget. Answer! _

The thoughts he wants to put forward are distant and foggy with the despair of it all. Ghostbur makes a sudden lunge for them and manages to pluck a meager memory from the lost-and-found that is his brain. He wrenches his arms to his sides and hugs himself, shutting his eyes and bringing all his energy into answering:

“I thought the only bad guys were Schlatt and Eret,” he begins, prying open his eyelids. He thinks Phil has echoed the sentiment before; thinks he promised he had been a good man in life. “Right?” Wilbur’s gaze is impassive, trying to grab hold of that emotion he sees swirling in Tommy’s eyes, trying to recognize it. Dedication, maybe, like what he sees in those portraits of Wilbur? Provocative, like Techno at his armory? Hesitancy, like Fundy?

Tommy unravels one of Ghostbur’s arms and takes hold of it, flinching when he responds only with a distant hum. “There are so many more bad guys. Please don’t let him come back.”

And Wilbur thinks maybe it is fear. He thinks that there is something unnatural about the way he holds himself, hunched and trembling, or even the way he moves, afraid to nick his shirt even though the Tommy he knew leapt over barbed fences with reckless abandon, scraping his arms every time, letting it scab so he could pick it later. He knows he should be worried, because he remembers these things — really does, and feels it like salt in his throat or a sword in the back. If only he can just take it, hold the thought in his hands before it leaves him like steam off a river or the leaves falling off a tree in autumn. 

The night that is ignorance is calm, though, and Wilbur is so tired.

“Okay,” he says instead, breathy, exhausted by the talk. He is lying to Tommy, and yet his brother untenses as if it is the most brilliant thing he could have said. “Okay. Then he won’t.”

Tommy hugs him, and Ghostbur feels himself forgetting already.

The words come mumbled against his chest; Tommy shudders: “Thank you, Wilbur.”

He doesn’t have the heart to correct him.


End file.
